


Not So Bad

by sharkbuddie



Category: Fables: The Wolf Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkbuddie/pseuds/sharkbuddie
Summary: Bigby Wolf and his Cryptid partner are faced with a very odd case.





	Not So Bad

It was a dark, gloomy day in Fabletown. The day had dragged by like the feet of a reluctant toddler forced to go to bed. The city felt sluggish, and even as sheriff Bigby Wolf sat at the table of a local diner for a meal he didn’t have much love for, a hush seemed to fall with the rain that began to drizzle down from the cloud-laden sky. The diner was quiet, with only a crackling record from an old-school jukebox filling the otherwise silent room. He was one of only four diners in the building, and one of those other three sat across from him with an oddly excited expression despite the gloom. This person was better known as Mister Babadook, a fairly new addition to the cryptid section of Fabletown. He was humanoid, but unsettlingly tall and thin, with paper white skin and black hair. Typically cryptids kept to themselves far away from the influence of Fable politics, but this one was very attached to the sheriff, and content to live out his days as something of a deputy to him. His magical prowess and ability to probe the minds and emotions of other beings made him invaluable to the investigative process. None of that made any difference to him - he wasn’t there for the judicial reward. He was there for Bigby, and he was happy to sit across from him at the booth and sip on a tall mango smoothie. His big purple eyes never left the sheriff, remaining wide and unblinking as he studied the wolf’s ten thousand mile glare out at his city. He could read his mind, if he wanted to, to find out what he was really thinking as he stared out at the rain. But he had long ago promised he wouldn’t, and Bigby was the one person he would  _ never  _ betray.

“Biiiiigby,” Mister B cooed, tapping a long finger on the table. “You’ve barely touched your food. It’s gonna be cold soon.”

The wolf made a noncommittal grunt, and reluctantly took a quick bite of his food. Scrambled eggs, burnt bacon, and diner-quality pancakes. He would’ve preferred starvation, but he tried to swallow that feeling with a swig of orange juice. 

B wasn’t too amused by the act. His face twisted with annoyance, and he pushed Bigby’s plate closer to him. “Come on, Bigby. Starving isn’t going to fix your problems.”

“No,” Bigby replied gruffly as he picked up another forkful of runny scrambled eggs, “but dying might.”

B did not appreciate the toothy grin he was flashed. He kicked Bigby under the table.

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

B wasn’t quite sure how to react to this. He was used to Bigby’s cynicism, but the circumstances were different this time around. Bigby had an actual  _ reason  _ to be upset this time. He didn’t want to be dismissive of the emotions he was feeling - especially because it was rare for Bigby to exhibit any kind of emotion, since he was so negatively perceived when emoting - but he also knew that acting this way wouldn’t help him at all. B would know! Dealing with emotions was literally his purpose in life. And yet, Bigby Wolf always managed to confound him. 

B took a deep breath, then let it out as a heavy sigh. He folded his hands on the table. 

“I understand what you’re going through. But not eating and hating the world is not going to help. You need a clear head to solve this one, Bigby.” 

That seemed to get through to him, at least somewhat. It helped that much of Bigby was still operating on pure instinct. It was maybe an unair exploit, but it managed to convince the fussy wolf to start eating, so B wrote it off. 

“I just don’t understand what we’re missing,” Bigby said through a mouthful of soggy pancake. “Nothing we’ve found so far makes any sense together. At least, not to me. I’ve been doing this long enough one would think I would be able to handle what seems like a simple job.”

B could feel a number of unpleasant emotions coming off of his wolf in waves. He was angry, but also discouraged. B couldn’t help himself - he gulped some of it down, and felt a flourish inside himself. He fed off of emotions, and Bigby’s were deliciously potent at all times. Negative emotions are what tasted the best - like licorice, or sometimes steak, when coming off of Bigby. He did always feel an ounce or two of remorse when feeding off of Bigby, though. It seemed taboo. 

“Well...why don’t we lay everything out?” 

Bigby looked up at B when he said this, considered a moment, then nodded. 

B cracked his knuckles, and slipped the silk top hat off of his head. He set it on the table, and before he could begin to do what he was planning on doing, a pomeranian popped its fluffy head out of the hat and barked.

“Kyle!” B snapped. The puppy recoiled a little, and gave the cryptid a pleading look. B was having none of it, and rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to be at home with your mother. Get out of my hat.”

B shoved the puppy downwards, and once he was sure it was gone, he started to pull out evidence bags Bigby had been giving him throughout their investigation so far, and set them neatly on the table. 

In order, there were: 

  * A keyring with seventeen identical keys 
  * A tuft of wool
  * A large tooth ( possibly from a wolf? )
  * An  unlabeled, lime green potion 
  * A small, brass bell



 

Seeing all of the evidence together did not make any more sense than it had before. Bigby’s expression turned sour, and he took an annoyed bite of overcooked bacon. They had all been found in different apartments of various other Fables, all with nothing in common, and with no particular MO or time frame. He picked up the unmarked potion and examined it closely as he took another bite of bacon. He dared not open it for fear of accidentally causing some sort of reaction, but he did swirl the murky green liquid in it. 

“Do  _ you  _ have any idea what this is, B?”

B offered only a shrug. “I don’t, but my witch might.”

Bigby’s nose wrinkled. B’s witch was a nice enough woman, but he didn’t have the patience or time for her many sons. They were always unbearably rambunctious.

B could sense his detestment for the idea. “I could take it to her and report back if you want.”

“Later. I don’t like the idea of you being alone with that... _ thing _ out there.”

B couldn’t help but smile. Bigby was incredibly protective, even if he did appear gruff and somewhat aloof most of the time. The use of the word ‘thing’ did catch him off guard, though.

“Bigby, it’s probably a cryptid. We aren’t  _ things.”  _

“ _ Might  _ be a cryptid,” Bigby corrected. He set the bottle down and finished off his eggs. “We don’t know that it isn’t Fae or something yet. It wouldn’t exactly surprise me if some Fae decided to mess with Fabletown. Historically, we don’t exactly get along.”

“Bigby, they’re  _ Fae. Nobody  _ gets along with them except other Fae, and even that is questionable.” 

He had a point, but B could sense Bigby was unwilling to relent. He let it go. 

Bigby moved on pretty quickly. After another bite of pancake and a sip of his juice, he rested his head on his hand, and examined the items before him. He didn’t necessarily expect the answers to jump out at him, but there had to be more to go on, surely. 

“Goddamnit,” he hissed. He shoved his empty plate away and leaned in closer, squinting at the items laid out before him. He couldn’t begin to make a single connection, save for the obvious reference to his own story with the fang and the wool. But was that  _ really  _ a connection? Was the person they were looking for toying with him? And if so, why? New Fables and cryptids didn’t come out with knowledge of the world. Well - at least not of specific people in it. B didn’t know Bigby when he was first brought into the world. Maybe they had heard of him? Maybe it was pure coincidence, he wasn’t sure. The two items hadn’t been found anywhere near each other anyway - he assumed he was overthinking. 

B could see Bigby hard at work. It was...adorable. He liked watching the wolf’s face twist with different emotions, and taste them peeling off of him as they changed. They were all equally delicious, and he felt his face growing a warm, purple flush as he continued to watch him work. 

“It could all just be random,” B finally suggested with a shrug. He picked up his glass and took a sip from the straw. “I mean - I do things in random order for random reasons all the time. So do most cryptids. The only exception I can think of is the Mothman, but he’s a nervous wreck all the time, so he doesn’t count.”

“But why do it at all, then?” Bigby retorted. He rubbed his face. “I know cryptids don’t always act logically - we don’t either - but this is  _ so  _ random it has to be meaningful. Right?”

“No,” B quipped. He gave an exaggerated shrug, and chuckled at Bigby. “No, it really doesn’t. Bigby - I know cryptids come out fully formed a lot of the time, but we’re still...babies, kind of. We don’t know what we’re doing. This one probably doesn’t either, or maybe this is part of its game. Like how I make people hallucinate and stuff.”

Bigby didn’t seem satisfied with this answer. “Well...how do we even know it  _ is  _ a cryptid? It’s likely, I’ll give you that, but we have no proof. All we have is this assortment of garbage. It doesn’t even have a distinct scent on it, and you  _ know  _ I wouldn’t miss something like that.”

_ Can’t fool this nose,  _ repeated a past Bigby. B smiled at the memory. Bigby was so attractive. 

“I know you wouldn’t. But also, it might be smart to consider that maybe the person doesn’t  _ have  _ a distinct scent?”

Bigby snorted. “That’s stupid. Everything has a scent.”

“Except...maybe something that doesn’t want to be smelled.” 

Bigby thought for a minute. That seemed stupid - but only in the universe where witches and ancient wolves didn’t exist. In the mundane world that was a ludicrous notion. But...he had a point. He hated when B had a point. He always had the same smug look. When Bigby looked up, that was the exact expression the little bastard had on his face. Bigby’s cheeks felt hot. 

“Okay, so it’s a something that doesn’t want to be smelled. So? Why? And why break into random apartments with little to no connection and leave a random collection of things that have no connection? And how did it get in without opening something?”

B made a face, confused by the stupidity of the question. “Teleportation, duh.”

“That’s not a ‘duh’ moment, B. Who the fuck teleports, and how did they do it without residue?”

“Are you dumb?  _ I  _ do. You’re a weirdo who insists on walking or getting a cab.”

“It’s not cheap to teleport, B!”

“It’s literally free if you do it with me? Bigby - oh my god. Are you drunk?”

“God, I wish.”

Bigby slumped angrily in his seat. This investigation was dumb. If nothing was stolen and nobody was hurt, who cared? He didn’t have time for this.

Except that he did. It had been incredibly dull at the Business Office as of late. Bigby was too good at his job, though the resounding attitude towards the sheriff said otherwise. Even after all these years of improving himself and being on his very best behavior, people were afraid of him. Or just wanted him dead. There was no inbetween, aside from Snow White, who saw his usefulness and extorted it. 

Ugh.  _ Snow White.  _

His mouth tasted sour. Once upon a time he had been hopelessly in love with her. At one time, she had been the only person in all of Fabletown who didn’t hate him outright. He stupidly confused that for love, even as she constantly tore him down and assumed the worst of him. 

“Don’t think about her,” B said. He leaned forward and put his pale, delicate hand on Bigby’s. 

“You’re not supposed to read my thoughts, B.”

“I wasn’t. You just always have the same face when you think about her.” 

What could he say? B read him like a book, no matter how hard he tried. It didn’t seem to matter if they had an agreement that banned mind reading. In some ways it was a comfort, in others the subject of great paranoia for the sheriff. If B could read him, could others? And if so, who? And how much could they tell from just his body language? 

Bigby eventually grew tired of staring at evidence that made no sense trying to draw invisible connections between nonsensical events. He paid his check and left, insisting, again, on walking instead of teleporting. A light drizzle had begun to saturate the city, cooling off the air and kicking up a petrichor-scented breeze. The doldrums of a city starting to drift off to sleep were incredibly comforting to Bigby. There were days when he missed the vibrant green fields and endless pine forests of the Homelands. But this city had been his home for so long, he could find comfort in the noises of New York traffic and the steady humming of the city. The whole city felt alive, like a beating heart made of concrete and taxis. 

Bigby was happily lost in thought, smoking a cigarette when he felt B tap him on the shoulder. The jolt back to reality was unwelcome, and he expressed this with a confused, annoyed “hrm?”

B pointed to an alleyway across the street, where Bigby managed to catch a moving shadow slipping away. His shoulders tensed, and he flicked his cigarette away as he made a direct line towards the alley.

“It could be dangerous,” B cautioned. He had to jog to keep up with Bigby’s purposeful pace. “Shouldn’t we -”

“I’m Bigby Wolf,” he said dismissively, not tearing his burning yellow eyes away from where he had seen the shadow, “what’s it gonna do to me?”


End file.
